Shavuot (now with 100% more audio)

On April 2nd, the little Olympus voice recorder that both warded me from a thousand dangers and made me the butt of endless mirth decided to call it quits. I loved that little thing. It had two years worth of friends' voices and thoughts and memories in sound on it, none of which I could salvage.

But, I moved on and got another one. It has built-in stereo microphones and a red paint job. It is not as easy to turn on (takes about 10 seconds to warm up) but the sound quality is excellent, so I hope to get some audio loaded on here to complete the experience. There are some great cuts of dialogue and field sound from a series of tours we took into the West Bank that I will load later once I can do a more complete job of blogging those trips, because they were extraordinary and I want to present them correctly. (If you're reading this on e-mail, you may need to access the site to listen to any audio.)

For now, here is a window in time from this last weekend: Friday was the holiday of Shavuot, which commemorates the day that Moshe (Moses) received the Ten Commandments from God. Like nearly all the holidays around here, it's predicated on eating with the family. This is a big enough one that we got the day off from school, and my dear friend Hadas invited me to picnic in a national forest with her boyfriend Sruli, her parents, brother, his wife and their kids.

A perfect day. Hot enough to be warm in the shade, a beautiful view of a valley or orange groves through the trees, and lots of bread, hummus, and wine.

We played an arcane Hebrew board game similar to Monopoly (but with wizards and dragons!) with Hadas's nine-year-old nephew, Tomer. Lots of written stuff with character and action cards, so I needed to be read to by Sruli or Hadas every round: "Ehm . . . this talisman protects you from . . . *question in Hebrew, answered with "dark spells"* . . . ah yes, dark spells, but only if . . . you are not in the forest . . ."

When there's a lull in the gameplay, Hadas comforts her niece while I take a wine-induced nap:



Finding one set of good friends has been easily the best thing about traveling this year, and I will miss them this summer.

Umm al-Fahm

And hello again, compatriots. Today's story comes from two months ago when I visited the Northern city of Umm al-Fahm with a group from school. The interesting statistic here is that 100% of the population is Arab, (99% Muslim) yet it falls entirely within the border of Israel, though barely. Here is the fabled "Green Line" border fence between Israel and the West Bank, close to the city:



And here is the city. About 43,000 people, originally founded in 1265. Name means "Mother of Charcoal" (how cool is that) because of the forests that used to surround it.


And here is a geometrically-inclined plant:


We visited an Arabic coffee factory. Here is my favorite machine -- the roaster:


As well as a baklava factory. Take a gigantic pot of sugar...


Add a little Ghee...


Cool it in a pan...


Baklava for me..!


Finally, the hidden gem of the trip: the Umm al-Fahm art gallery. Founded in 1996 and very small, but wonderful exhibitions of photography.


One of the town's football clubs back in the 40s, with a pre-game prayer:



My favorite photograph -- a gathering of three generations to discuss business at a town meeting (click to enlarge and see the different characters and expressions):


And, most interesting, an exhibition of formal photographs of modern Arabs taken in the most prestigious rooms of their homes. Take a few moments to enlarge the images to see the myriad details of life in the photographs.

20:00

I was driving north with an Israeli friend on the Namir road from Tel Aviv to Herzliyya last Monday night. The traffic was much worse than usual: long stops with occasional lurching forward, and my clutch leg was beginning to give out.

We crossed a large arterial intersection; just as the flow of traffic finally began to loosen and speed up, it immediately ground to another complete stop, and I saw some people getting out of their cars and standing up. They seemed to be looking at an accident up ahead.

Then, everybody got out of their cars and stood up. All the cars ahead on the four-lane road.

"Is it an accident?" I asked.

"No. Do you hear it?"

I couldn't hear anything.

"Get out of the car and stand up."

I opened the door and stood up, looking ahead. I saw four lanes of one-way traffic doing the same. When I opened my door, I could hear the low and distant drone of air raid sirens.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Shhhhhhh!"

I turned around, and saw all the cars stopped with their doors open. Their passengers were alertly standing behind the open doors like ranks of soldiers with large futuristic shields. It felt exactly like a hive-mind moment from a science fiction story.

After about 30 long seconds the sirens wound down to a stop, and everyone got back in their cars and began driving again. My friend explained that we had just participated in a once-yearly minute of silence to remember the fallen soldiers in any Israeli war; 8pm on that day, throughout the country, every year.

"Once a year! And you got it on the highway!"

For my money, the best way possible to experience it.